


I dreamt of gravity keeping us around

by merriweather



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriweather/pseuds/merriweather
Summary: She could just keep Cara’s clothes, and never see her again.  It could be like a sort of memento of the evening, the real signifier of the Nike event - not a borrowed red dress, but a borrowed t-shirt and pair of leggings.  Less valuable by cost, sure, but far more meaningful in the wearing of it.





	

It takes Ginny three weeks to get in touch with her.

If you asked her why it took so long, there are logical reasons she can cite: she’s trying to keep a low profile; the Padres went on the road two days after the Nike event; she spends every waking hour training or pitching. It makes complete sense, that Ginny would wait so long. She’s busy, dammit, and there’s a lot at stake in her life.

But also - also. She’s scared, and that excuse is not going to see the light of day.

Ginny had considered her options. She could just keep Cara’s clothes, and never see her again. It could be like a sort of memento of the evening, the real signifier of the Nike event - not a borrowed red dress, but a borrowed t-shirt and pair of leggings. Less valuable by cost, sure, but far more meaningful in the wearing of it. More herself than anything tight and floor-length, and yet the perfect amount of _not herself_ , in that it doesn’t quite smell like her, or fit her quite right, or come from a life that Ginny has ever been able to know.

So yeah, Ginny could just keep the clothes and leave it at that.

But Cara also left her with more than spare leggings and a cotton tee; she left her number in Ginny’s phone. No last name; just “Cara,” followed by the beach scene emoji. The first time Ginny realized it was in her contacts list, she immediately chuckled, and then her stomach did a somersault.

So it takes three weeks. Three weeks of staying out of the spotlight, traveling for away games, training and pitching, and staring at that damn beach emoji on her phone.

Until finally, after three weeks, Ginny is lying awake in bed, with nothing but deafening silence and the light of her cell phone delivering emails from Amelia.

It’s 1:00am, and at 1:00am three weeks ago, Ginny was giving Cara a piggyback ride in a stranger’s suburban living room. She absently wonders if Cara does that every weekend. If she lives in a world of friends and parties and freedom that Ginny will never get a taste of again, let alone live.

Foolishly, under the duress of fatigue and loneliness, Ginny taps on that beach emoji and sends a text into the blank white screen of past conversation.

_Hey._

That’s enough for a conversation starter, right? Ginny winces. Maybe not. Her thumbs go back to the keyboard.

_I hope I’m not waking you. I figured you’d be at a party._

She waits. Finally, after a seeming eternity, the three gray dots bounce up onto the chat.

_I’ve literally been watching Grey’s Anatomy for the past seven hours. I hate Netflix._

She laughs at that, and the sound of it almost startles her, tearing into the silence of the room. It’s quickly followed by a pang of jealousy. She’s never seen a single episode of _Grey’s Anatomy_ , but suddenly she wishes she’d watched the last seven with Cara, curled up in pajamas on the couch, with popcorn and beer.

_Doesn’t sound so bad. Can’t sleep though?_

The dots appear again, sooner this time.

_I worked til 3am last night. My sleep schedule’s fucked. You?_

Ginny worries her lip between her teeth. _Wired from the game earlier._

_Yeah, no kidding. Some life you’ve got, Ginny Baker._

Ginny doesn’t know what to say to that. But the dots come back, and she’s rescued.

_You’ve been on quite a streak lately._

This time, Ginny’s thankful for the darkness and the solitude, because it means no one can see how big she’s grinning at the thought of Cara following along with baseball for her.

_Oh yeah? You been watching me?_

_For sure. Baseball’s so boring, it helps me sleep._ A winking emoji soon follows. Ginny laughs again.

_Okay, now that’s just mean._

_Seriously, though, you doing okay?_

Ginny heistates, then shakes her head. This girl has already seen the worst of it, and she’s protected by the distance of text and technology at the moment. There’s no reason to pretend.

_Yeah. They got me a therapist._

Dots. _My bad._

Ginny chuckles. _Nah, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not fun, but it’s alright._

Her thumbs hover over the letters. She presses send.

_Thank you._

_You’re welcome._

Ginny can’t bring herself to let that be it. Her fingers go back over the keyboard.

_Hey, I still have your clothes. Can I give them back to you?_

_You gonna come all the way to LA?_

Dammit. Ginny sighs, and thinks for a second. _I mean, if you’re busy, I can just send them with Eliot. I just thought it’d be nice to get out of the baseball world for a bit. I have a few breaks coming up. Just no alcohol this time. Or cameras._

Ginny stares at the gray dots, mired in a small pool of anxiety. Finally, relief: _I’m totally available, don’t worry. I just watched seven eps of Grey’s Anatomy, remember? I have no life._

The tension drains away instantly, and Ginny grins. _Well I’m glad I rank just a little higher than bingewatching an old TV show._

_Oh totally._

They text a little while longer, until Ginny feels a peace settle over her, and she finally falls asleep. 

\--- 

It takes Ginny thirteen minutes to leave the clubhouse and walk out to Cara’s waiting car. There are no logical reasons. She’s just scared.

After thirteen minutes of pacing back and forth, checking her reflection in the mirror, and unfolding and refolding Cara’s clothes, she finally slings her bag over her shoulder and heads out into the fading sunshine.

Cara’s leaning against her car, scrolling on her phone, her hair pushed out of her face by a pair of sunglasses.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ginny announces, as a way of greeting.

Cara’s eyes snap up and a big smile washes over her face. “Ginny Baker, star pitcher for the San Diego Padres. Can I have a picture?”

“Shut up,” Ginny chuckles, shoving a hand in her pocket.

“I didn’t get one last time! And I deleted the video, as you recall.” Cara’s grin stays plastered to her face even as she gestures Ginny to her car, and opens the passenger door for her.

“Maybe later,” Ginny mumbles, ducking inside. Cara slides into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. “As a thank you for driving all the way here just to pick me up and drive me back.”

“As long as you pay for gas,” Cara reminds her. “We don’t all have that Nike money, y’know.”

Ginny snorts. “I just barely got to keep that Nike money.”

The drive to Cara’s place is long, technically, but it goes fast. Dwindling sunlight sinks into a quiet dusk, and Cara chats naturally next to her. She asks her questions about her life, and childhood, and favorite colors, foods, and movies. It should feel like an interview, except it doesn’t, because Cara’s not really asking about Ginny Baker, star pitcher for the San Diego Padres, first woman in Major League Baseball. There is no script, and there’s no wrong answer. It’s only Ginny, and a pretty girl asking to know her.

\---

It turns out _Grey’s Anatomy_ is not that great. Or at least, Ginny’s not sure you can just come in the middle like this, and totally be able to follow along.

One thing is for sure, though. Curled up on the couch with Cara, popcorn, and beer, is absolutely great.

After three episodes, it’s 1:00am, and Cara shuts off the TV. She looks expectantly at Ginny. “You tired?”

Ginny yawns. “Not really.”

“Uh-huh. You seem pretty tired to me.”

“I have a question for you, first.”

“Oh?”

Ginny takes a deep breath, and steels her nerves. This, truly, was a lingering question that sat unasked through therapy for three weeks. And the only person she’s willing to ask is sitting in front of her, finally, again.

“Was there more to that video than what you sent Amelia?”

Cara’s brow furrows. “Like...?”

“Like... I don’t know. I was drunk, and we were hanging out in a bathtub, I don’t remember anything.”

“Are you asking if I’m holding onto some scandalous video to release later?”

“What? No!” Ginny buries her face in her hands. “No, I’m not asking that. I just... did we... make out?”

Cara barks out a laugh. “No, Ginny. We did not. It seemed like a really good idea, but then you were super drunk and started crying, and those are really not the ideal circumstances.”

“Oh.” Ginny doesn’t know what to do with that information, except her stomach is somersaulting again.

“The ideal circumstances,” Cara continues, resituating herself so she’s facing Ginny, “usually involve being sober, no crying, and in a safe place, without a bunch of people hanging around.”

Ginny gulps. “Y-yeah,” she manages to stammer.

“It’s also really nice,” Cara scoots closer, her weight shifting the couch cushions underneath Ginny, “When you’re certain the other person wants to.”

Ginny nods. “Are you, uh, asking if I wanted to?”

Cara laughs a little, then takes a deep breath. “I’m actually asking if you _want_ to.”

_Oh._ Ginny’s whole body flushes hot, and she realizes that this is one of the few times in her life that someone is genuinely _asking her_ what she _wants_. There’s no obligation, no strings attached, no negotiation - just _want_.

And oh, does Ginny want.

She reaches out, sliding her fingers along the back of Cara’s neck, and pulls her gently. Cara moves forward, her hands falling to catch her balance. One of them lands on Ginny’s leg, just as their lips meet. Cara’s fingers squeeze, and Ginny lingers for a moment, before pushing forward. Her other hand wrinkles Cara’s shirt fabric, running up her side. Then, before long, Cara’s kisses are chasing Ginny backwards, and her legs settle on other either side of Ginny’s.

“One second.” Cara pulls away by a fraction to whisper the words, and then sits back. Ginny props herself up on her elbows, waiting patiently as Cara twists and untangles the blankets from underneath and around them. Ginny just watches her, her fingers rubbing lightly on the fabric over Cara’s knees - the only part of her she can reach at the moment.

As the blankets drop to the ground, Cara’s eyes come back to Ginny’s, which never left her. Her cheeks flush. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Ginny sits up, tipping Cara’s hips back slightly as the positions shift. To compensate, she reaches around and spreads her palm across her lower back, holding her in place.

“I’ve gotta say something really stupid,” Cara breathes as Ginny kisses up her jawline. “This is ridiculously hot. _You’re_ ridiculously hot.”

Ginny bursts into laughter, dropping her head into the crook of Cara’s neck and retreating her fingertips back to Cara’s knees. “Seriously?”

Cara pulls her face back. “ _Yes,_ I’m sorry. It’s leading to a stupid question.”

Ginny leans back and lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“So... you know how you can pick me up, pretty easily?”

This time, Ginny doesn’t laugh. Instead, she slides her hands along Cara’s thighs, then around her back to lock her fingers together. Cara’s arms instinctually wind around Ginny’s neck as she gets her foot underneath her and hoists herself into a standing position, Cara’s legs wrapped around her waist.

“Something like this?”

Cara grabs Ginny by the jaw and tilts her head up, to kiss her soundly. “Exactly like this.”

“Did you wanna go somewhere?” Ginny teases when Cara pulls back.

“Oh, you know. Just around. Surprise me.”

They kiss slowly for another thirty seconds or so, as Ginny walks them into the kitchen, and gently sets Cara on the countertop.

“I could get used to that.”

“It’s worth a two hour drive to come get me?”

“As long as traffic’s light.” Cara’s fingertips graze the edge of Ginny’s face as she pushes strands of her hair back.

“LA weekends sound good to me. Plus, there are Dodger games.”

“Mm,” Cara agrees, as she dips her head to kiss Ginny again, soft and long and light. “You just gotta leave _me_ one of _your_ shirts this time.”

“A Padres shirt?”

“Don’t care. S’just gotta be one of yours.” Another kiss, short and gentle. Cara’s legs wrap around Ginny’s waist again, pulling her close, and Ginny’s hands find the edge of Cara’s waistband, to skate up and rest against her stomach, to trace along her hipbones.

Ginny smiles, Cara’s hands stroking the contours of her face, thumbing the length of her hairline and the edges of her cheekbones. She closes her eyes for just a moment, to revel in the _touch_ , before opening them again and taking in Cara’s own smile shining and swollen lips. “I can definitely arrange that.”

\---

It takes seven weeks for the question to come up. Ginny has spent three off-days at Cara’s apartment, getting to know her, with takeout and makeouts and Netflix, in complete privacy, thanks to Cara’s roommate always staying at her boyfriend’s. ( _She’s really needy_ , Cara informs Ginny as she’s brewing coffee for them one morning.)

In the beginning, it’s very nearly perfect - although Cara’s car racks up a lot of miles. It’s a secret between them, and only them. Ginny’s never had a girlfriend before, let alone a _friend_ , so time feels precious and electric and achingly _free_.

Except she always has to go back, and she’s never sure what it means that standing in the parking lot watching Cara’s convertible slip away makes it feel like a little fire inside her is getting stamped out.

It’s a question that Ginny’s unsure of the answer to... doesn’t even know how to ask it, or where it would lead. So she avoids it. She puts it squarely behind her and turns toward the pretty girl who listens and smiles and sees her.

By the fourth time she’s at Cara’s, there’s a routine _normalcy_ to their back-and-forth. Cara picks Ginny up, they steal foolish grins and furtive glances as they drive to LA, and then they make out like teenagers as soon as Cara closes her front door behind them. Then, they head into the living room, and settle in for whatever movie or TV show or conversation that will carry them easily into the night. If they don’t fall asleep on the couch, Ginny brushes her teeth and crawls into Cara’s bed, under Cara’s sheets, wearing one of Cara’s t-shirts. Cara joins soon after, and they cuddle up, nose to nose, a mirrored image on the pile of pillows between them. They whisper good night to each other, and drift off.

In the morning, Ginny opens her eyes to see Cara already awake, and watching her. She winces. “Sorry, this is creepy. I swear it’s only been like, five minutes.”

“Uh-huh.” Ginny scoots closer.

Cara reaches out and brushes some of Ginny’s hair out of her face. “Good morning, though.”

Ginny peers at her through one squinted eye. “Morning.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

Ginny nods, yawns, and stretches out, curling back to her original position to see Cara smiling at her.

After breakfast, Ginny stuffs her things back into her bag, switching out a shirt to leave on Cara’s bed. She leans against the front door, duffel at her feet, waiting for Cara to get her things together and drive her back.

“Hey. You ready?” Cara grabs her keys and sunglasses.

“As I’ll ever be,” Ginny sighs, and lifts herself off the door.

Cara frowns, and stops. There’s a weird silence that falls over them, as neither of them move to leave. Finally: “Can I ask you a question?”

Ginny shrugs. “Sure.”

Cara bites her lip, and waits a few seconds more before speaking. “Are you... coming here just to get away from baseball?”

_That_ is the question that has eluded Ginny, the one that has only whispered to her faintly in the smoldered ashes of every parking lot goodbye. “What?”

“It’s just... you’re always talking about this being an escape for you, and you’re always bummed to leave. We never talk about baseball, and we never leave my apartment while you’re here.”

“That’s just... security. I mean, you know.”

Cara sighs. “I do know. I guess I just... want to know if my apartment is just a vacation spot for you.” She stops for a beat, then continues. “I’m worried about you, and worried that... _this_...” - she gestures between them - “...is wrapped up in that.”

Ginny flops back against the door, and squeezes her eyes shut. “I get you.”

“I know you need time away, and I’m happy to give you an opportunity for that, but I don’t want that to be the only reason that we’re... what we are to each other.”

At that, Ginny’s eyes snap to attention, and lock with Cara’s. “What we _are_ to each other?”

Cara laughs, unexpectedly. “I don’t know, Gin! I pick up a baseball superstar every three weeks and take her to my apartment for twenty-four hours, where we watch movies and make out! This isn’t exactly a cookie cutter relationship.”

Ginny nods, suddenly serious in the silence. Her eyes automatically go back to her shoes. “I think... of you as my girlfriend.”

Cara smiles. “I think of _you_ as my girlfriend.”

“Okay, so that’s... good.”

“Do you think of me as an escape?”

Ginny chews her lip, squirming under the persistence of the question. “No? Or I mean, I don’t _want_ to. Because you mean a lot to me, now. It sounds crazy, but you kind of always have. Since we met.”

Cara’s smile stretches even wider. “So many weeks ago,” she teases.

Ginny plows on, realizing Cara’s waiting for more. “Yeah, this is a getaway from my life, but I’m trying to make this part of my life. I want this to be normal, not the exception. I want you in my life, not as a vacation, but part of the routine. I want... _you_. And I don’t want to burden you with my crazy life, or make you feel like you’re not one of the best things I’ve got going on.”

_Want want want want._

“Ginny Baker.” Cara lets her bag slide down her arm and onto the floor, dropping her keys on a table.

“What?”

“I’m good with that.” But conversation doesn’t seem necessary anymore, as Cara has stepped over Ginny’s duffel bag and pushed it back with her heel, leaving her to stand directly in Ginny’s space. She wraps her hands around Ginny’s shoulders and tugs, pulling Ginny up so she can hug her.

“You’re not a burden,” she murmurs from just below Ginny’s ear, between kisses. Ginny feels her eyes well up as she laces her arms around Cara, holding them tightly together. “You’re wonderful, and I’m so happy I get to know you. _You_ you.”

Ginny takes a deep and shaky breath, feeling the weight of Cara’s body move with hers as the air fills her lungs, then pushes out.

“Let’s get you back to San Diego, okay? We’ll figure this out as we go.” Cara steps back, trailing her hand down to Ginny’s hand, and lacing their fingers together. She picks up Ginny’s duffel bag with the other.

Ginny just nods, blinking back a few tears, and swiping at the others with her shirt sleeve.

Cara frowns. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

Ginny laughs, and squeezes her hand. “It’s fine. I’m in therapy now; I do it all the time.”

After that, they tell Amelia, out of necessity. Ginny doesn’t want to feel like she’s _sneaking_ , and she doesn’t want Cara to feel like she’s being _hidden._

“You aren’t gonna tell me this is a bad idea?” Ginny asks when Amelia lets out a long rush of breath and just says _okay_ to the sight of Ginny and Cara holding hands.

“Well, she had your best interests at heart within 12 hours of meeting you, so as your friend, no. As your manager?”

Ginny winces. Amelia makes a face that is indistinguishable between a smile and a grimace. “As your manager, there’s nothing I can say to you that you probably haven’t already worried about. I’ll do what I can to keep you guys low profile until you say otherwise.”

Cara beams at her, and Ginny can’t help but mirror the smile.

Amelia scrunches up her nose. “She also makes you do _this_ more than I’ve ever seen in the past three years, so. I’m gonna say there’s more on the table here than just your image and some endorsement deals.”

Something shifts inside of Ginny to hear it said like that. The idea that Amelia sees Cara as _long-term_ is scary, and emboldening, and a _relief_.

They traverse the same stretch of the I-5 for seven months, any time Ginny has days off. Cara comes to Dodger Stadium when Ginny pitches there, and makes the trek down to San Diego every other start. In their time apart, they wear each other’s clothes, text mundane and ridiculous things at every hour, and count down the days until their next escape from routine and into each other’s arms.

In their time together, they curl up on the couch, finish all twelve fucking seasons of _Grey’s Anatomy_ , eat popcorn and drink beer, make out, talk about life and dreams and the things they like and don’t like, discover the best takeout places and easy recipes to cook, have sex, take baths together that sometimes lead to sex, plan for the future, and slowly carve out intimacy in the space that they had suddenly found for themselves.

\---

After seven months, Amelia pulls Ginny aside and asks her if she wants her to find an apartment for her and Cara in San Diego.

Ginny shoves her hands deeper into the pocket of her hoodie. “Are you asking my girlfriend to move in with me?”

Amelia laughs. “Somebody’s got to, kiddo. That girl has put 3500 miles on her car for you and the most you have given her is Padres gear. Which you get for free, I might add.”

Ginny knows her appall is visible, even as she coughs through a laugh. “Excuse you, that is so not true. I have given her more than _Padres gear_.”

“Orgasms don’t count.” Amelia barely looks up from her phone, which had buzzed in interruption during Ginny’s retort.

“Okay, this conversation is definitely over.”

Amelia catches her by the elbow as she turns away, her eyes shining with amusement. “Ginny, I’m kidding! I know you buy her things, and make her happy blah blah blah et cetera. I’m just saying, it makes a hell of a lot of sense, and I’m here to help you, even if that means giving you a little push. So just talk to her about it, okay? And let me know what you guys think. It’s the offseason soon. A perfect time to play house.”

Ginny waits to bring it up until the next time she sees Cara in person, which happens to be two weeks later. Cara’s waiting by her car in front of Petco Park as always, and, as always, the sight of her takes every weight off Ginny’s heart. It’s even better knowing that they’ll be able to spend more time together through the winter, without daily games and road travel and baseball demands nonstop.

The only thing that sucks, in this moment, is she can’t greet her with a kiss. A hug is even a little risky, if it’s every time. Instead, it’s the biggest smile she can fit on her face, directly into the car, and out of the spotlight.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Ginny drums up the nerve twenty minutes later, as San Diego retreats behind them.

“Shoot.”

“How would you feel about not making this drive anymore?”

“Ginny Baker, I’m gonna need you to be more specific with that question, because with the way you asked that just now it could go one of two ways and I don’t need to be having a heart attack when I’m driving.”

“Oh god, no!” Ginny covers her face with her hands. “I mean it in the good way. Like... what do you think about maybe moving to San Diego?”

“To be with you?”

“To be with me... and live... with me...” Ginny’s kind of glad she’s doing this in the car, so Cara can’t look at her directly for too long.

But she doesn’t know why she’s scared, because the biggest smile bursts forth on Cara’s face, and she pushes her sunglasses up to her head, revealing similarly-beaming eyes.

“Are you serious right now?”

“I just wanted to talk about it, because it’s crazy for you to drive all this way, and I hate that we can’t just see each other all the time, but I don’t know if there’s enough for you here in San Diego; I don’t want to pull you out of your perfectly wonderful life and into mine, so I mean...”

Cara cuts her off by reaching over and giving her knee a squeeze. “I’m pressing pause on this conversation, hang on. Detour.”

She exits off the highway, and heads west, into the long shadows of the setting sun. Ginny just slips her hand underneath Cara’s on her leg, and tangles their fingers together. She’s not entirely sure how this conversation is going to go, but the reality of Cara’s words is sinking in: it’s going to be one of two very different ways. And while Ginny knows which way she _wants_ , she’s not sure if this is going to be one of the things she actually gets. All she can do is hold tight to the fingers threaded through her own, and hope.

Cara makes another lefthand turn, and Ginny spots the ocean stretching out before them. Seeing it calms Ginny, and she keeps her focus on it as they drive alongside the coast, before pulling over onto a white sandy beach.

“If we’re gonna have this conversation, I figured it needed to be here. Since I made you a promise the first night I met you.”

Tears prick at the back of Ginny’s eyes, and she doesn’t even scan the area for people before leaning over the console and kissing Cara square on the mouth. Public areas be damned. She should’ve done that back in the stadium parking lot.

Cara brings her hand up to Ginny’s cheek, her thumb stroking along the skin. Ginny kisses her twice, three times, and doesn’t bother pulling away when they separate. She leans her forehead against Cara’s and brings her hand to cover hers, still resting against her face.

Everything is suddenly _heavy_ , and Cara lets out a rush of air. “I know you just kind of asked me to move in with you, but those feel an awful lot like breakup kisses.”

Ginny’s eyes still feel wet, and she nuzzles her cheek against Cara’s, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I just... don’t know what’s going to happen. Either you move to San Diego and everything changes, or you don’t... and everything changes.”

Cara swallows, and nods. “Before, you asked me if there was enough for me in San Diego. I promise you there is. Number one, _you’re_ in San Diego.”

Ginny pulls back and looks at her. “I just don’t want you to give up anything for me.”

Cara laughs. “ _Number two_ , my life in LA was never that great, and it’s way more noticeable now that you’re coming in and out of it. I love you, and I hate it when you leave.”

Ginny grabs Cara’s hand and squeezes her fingers. With her other hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squinting shut. “Moving forward with me is not... easy. If you come to San Diego, there are cameras, and Amelia, and baseball 24/7. I don’t want my life to completely consume yours. That’s what’s so nice about LA, and you being there - it’s separate. I can be me there. There’s no San Diego Padres to worry about.”

“So we’ll be separate in San Diego, then,” Cara replies with a shrug, as though it’s a no-brainer. “Our place will always be _our place_ , and you’ll always be able to be you there. No one will ever come in, and I’ll only leave when it’s dark out. It’ll be fine - you’ll make enough money for the both of us, and I still have all of _Private Practice_ to watch.” Ginny knows she’s joking, but she still sighs and flops back against her seat, inadvertently pulling her hand away.

“I don’t want you to hide.”

Cara keeps her position, reaching over and grabbing Ginny’s hand again. “So I won’t hide. Are you okay with what that means?”

Ginny looks at her sidelong. “Are you asking if I’m ready to be out?”

Cara considers. “You don’t need to be ready _now_ , but if the most high-profile female athlete shacks up with another woman in Southern California, it’s gonna raise some questions. We both have to be prepared to be out, even if we don’t actually come out.”

Ginny thumps her head against the headrest. “I hate that that’s true.”

“I know. And I don’t want to put you in a position to have to deal with that constantly, every time someone sticks a microphone in your face.”

Ginny turns to look at her. “What would you want to do in San Diego?”

Cara laughs. “As a baseball wife? I’d be livin’ the dream, babe. Shopping, a life of leisure, making all the other wives jealous by bragging on my stud of a ballplayer? Hello. I’d manage.”

Ginny giggles. “I’m serious. I don’t want to take away an opportunity to follow your passion. My life’s planned out, but yours doesn’t have to be.”

“Ginny, baseball’s not forever. You could get traded tomorrow, or god forbid, injured. I could discover the most amazing career next week, or I could cater waiter for the next six years before lightning strikes. Nothing’s planned out. And as long as I’m not planning, I’d like to be not planning with you.”

Ginny gives up a small smile in the pregnant silence that follows. Cara returns it. “Now. Stop avoiding the question. Do you still want me to move to San Diego, even if it means more public attention and even less privacy than now?”

Ginny bites her lip, taking in the whole reality of the question. Another shift happens, as she remembers Amelia’s words from five months ago: _There’s more on the table here than just your image and some endorsement deals._

A small peal of laughter tears from her as she looks down at her clasped hands.

“What’s happening? Is this stress laughter? Are you okay?”

Ginny just waves her off. “This is so stupid. I love you, and you make me happier than I’ve ever been. And I’ve always known it. Why would I ever want to give that up?” She reaches out again, and wraps her fingers around Cara’s forearm.

Cara stares at her meltingly for a moment. Then, “How gracefully do you think I can climb over this console?”

Ginny wipes the tears away from her eyes as she helps Cara throw a leg over her lap and get situated. She slides her seat all the way back as Cara essentially wraps her up in a full-body hug.

“No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together, okay? I’ll figure out what I’m doing with my life, and we’ll deal with the daily nuisance of cameras and contracts and gossip. We’ll make it okay.”

She pulls back, flipping her hair out of her face and running a palm along Ginny’s collarbone. “Okay?”

“I love you” is what comes out of Ginny’s mouth before she reaches up to kiss her, as an affirmation, a promise, and a reassurance.

The make out lazily for a few minutes, until Cara reaches down and yanks the lever to recline Ginny’s seat. “Is it a totally bad idea to celebrate embracing a public life by having sex in my car right now?”

Ginny shields her eyes with the hand that is not currently tucked in the back of Cara’s jeans.

“No is totally an option,” Cara insists, as she slides her hands down Ginny’s torso, dragging her nails along the way.

“It’s really _not_ ,” Ginny replies, the heat rising the match the joy.

\---

It takes Ginny two full years to publicly come out. At first, there’s some fear, yes. She doesn’t want a new relationship ruined by prying eyes; she doesn’t want other players leering or making crude remarks; she doesn’t want to be adopted as the poster child of any cause or argument.

So the first seven months are getting to know each other and their relationship, and the next seventeen are spent building a life together, shoring up their happiness for an inevitable flood. By this point there is no fear, just anticipation; no hiding, just protection. (Amelia makes Cara’s roommate and her boyfriend sign nondisclosure agreements, just to be safe.)

When the regular season ends, Ginny heads up to LA for a few months, with a lazy agenda, punctuated only by the odd baseball-related event. At Christmas, they go home to meet each other’s families - Cara gets along swimmingly with Ginny’s mom, and Cara’s younger brother is obsessed with Ginny. The holidays are stressful and peaceful in turn, which is beginning to feel truly normal for Ginny.

Then, in the new year, Amelia finds them a house not far from the stadium, and puts Cara’s name on the lease. Ginny pays for most of the rent, and they have two months of blissful, unfettered togetherness before spring training starts. It’s the least that Ginny’s life has ever been occupied by baseball, and in that space she’s able to breathe, and love, and learn how to miss the sport. Cara insists they both need to try new hobbies, so she buys watercolor kits and video games and a gardening set and a basketball hoop, and together they attempt and discard the activities in equal measure.

The night before Ginny’s supposed to leave for Arizona, Cara orders her favorite takeout, and sets up dinner for them on the back patio. With her bare feet tucked underneath her, and Cara’s bare feet in her lap, Ginny watches the sun set in their backyard, holding an empty plate and cherishing a full heart.

“I’m not ready for you to go back,” Cara confesses as an orange glow settles over them, fiddling with the paper on her beer bottle.

Ginny’s heart swells and aches, as though it’s trying to push itself out of her rib cage. She remembers the words that brought her and Cara close for the first time; from the porcelain hollow of a bathtub, a secret finally whispered and a wound finally opened. _I don’t want to go back._

Sliding her plate onto the patio table, she reaches out for Cara to take her hand. It’s easy to pull her onto her lap. She traces her fingers through her hair, and kisses her gently.

“I’m not ready to leave,” she admits.

But of course, she does, and as promised, they make it work. Ginny begins her second season without a hitch, Cara sits with Amelia during her games, and Ginny finds out that Cara looks cute in a baseball hat. After awhile, Amelia gets Cara a BAKER 43 jersey to wear when she’s in attendance. (Conveniently, Amelia brought this for Ginny’s first home start after a long stretch on the road, and Cara decided to wear the jersey, and only the jersey, for Ginny at home that night. Ginny would like to say she responded accordingly, but it was mostly flummox and fluster until Cara grabbed her hands and put them on her boobs.)

Their life is small and unusual and big and intimate, a connect-the-dots of stolen moments and stretched-out closeness. Amelia monitors their presence in the tabloids, but it’s not too big a deal. The gloss on Ginny’s career has dulled as she’s just a normal ballplayer now, and it couldn’t be more of a relief. Cara starts volunteering, since money isn’t an issue with Ginny’s paycheck and endorsement deals. She’s on a rotation with Habitat for Humanity, serving food at the homeless shelter, and beach clean-ups. Ginny couldn’t be prouder.

They go out occasionally, in the normalcy of their life, and Cara has shown up in a few paparazzi photos. There are a few playful headlines and suspicious captions. It’s annoying, but the sky does not fall.

At the start of Ginny’s third season, Nike hosts a red-carpet party for its latest “Play Like a Girl” campaign, and Ginny and Cara decide to go together.

“Are you sure about this?” Amelia asks them, when they came to her for consultation on the decision.

Ginny looks at Cara, and shrugs. “We’re good. Are you good?”

“As your friend, I’m already picking out complementary dresses. As your manager...” She stops, her face softening. “I see another opportunity to show the world who you are, and inspire by example.”

“Things are always very big picture for you, aren’t they,” Cara gestures at Amelia, as Ginny lets out a big breath.

“Yeah, no pressure,” Ginny chimes in.

“Ginny,” Amelia grabs her hand and looks into her eyes. “If you are okay with this part of who you are, then there’s no reason for this not to be a part of your image, too. And if there’s any part of the fallout that you can’t handle, you can bet your ass that I will handle it for you.”

So Cara and Ginny ride in the limo together, they walk the red carpet together, and their pictures together show up on the internet five minutes later, completely as normal. Amelia had a statement at the ready, which she released as soon as the pictures hit. The next day, Cara prints out her favorite shot and hangs it on their fridge. It’s one of the ones in between poses; Cara is reaching up to smooth stray hairs away from Ginny’s face, Ginny’s eyes closed at the touch, their fingers locked loosely together.

Its place on their fridge is half-joking, half-serious - an intimate moment from the lens of an outsider, displayed on the inside of their home. For the first week after hanging it there, Cara stops Ginny in the kitchen and hugs her, with the occasional “I’m so proud of you,” murmured in her ear.

In truth, it’s a nice reminder of their evening - Ginny in a navy dress, Cara in ice blue, clasped hands and soft touch. But Ginny finds that the picture can’t capture the feeling of the moment: Cara’s fingertips warm along her face, the comfort of her presence mixed with the jitters of vulnerability and the freeing sigh of being seen, not only as _Ginny Baker_ , star pitcher of the San Diego Padres and role model for little girls, but also as Ginny Baker, human woman athlete, in love and in view, and okay with who she is and what that means.

Eventually the camera flashes cease, the hum of attention dissipates, and the string of questions about Ginny and Cara fizzles out. Everyone makes their way inside the building for the event to start, and the spotlight is momentarily gone. Ginny takes a deep breath, and forces herself to let the tension out of her shoulders. As soon as they’re inside, Cara brings Ginny a drink and laces their fingers together. “Y’know, we met at a party just like this.”

Ginny wrinkles her nose. It feels like so long ago - a different person; a foreign dress, an alien face, a strangled voice. But it was also the beginning of a new person, a new relationship, and a new future, one that she is able to live today, more and more easily.

She tugs Cara closer into her side, pulling her arm around her own back, and leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. Cara can’t hide the twinge of surprise at the affection.

“This party’s way better,” Ginny affirms, her hand on Cara’s back. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

\---


End file.
